Life poems
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The Exiles. 1660
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The goodman sat beside his door
One sultry afternoon,
With his young wife singing at his side
An old and goodly tune.
The Truth Suppressed
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
Why do people sit in darkness as regards the Negro race?
Why so ignorant are nations of conditions in the case?
'Tis because the facts are strangled by a prejudice intense,
Truth is murdered in the forum when she cries in his defence.
A Forest Hymn
© William Cullen Bryant
The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf II. -- The King's Return
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And King Olaf heard the cry,
Saw the red light in the sky,
Laid his hand upon his sword,
As he leaned upon the railing,
And his ships went sailing, sailing
Northward into Drontheim fiord.
Negro Spirituals
© Anonymous
Blow your trumpet, Gabriel.
Lord, how loud shall I blow it?
Blow it right calm and easy,
Do not alarm my people,
Tell dem to come to judgment,
In dat great gittin-up Mornin, etc.
Echo And The Ferry
© Jean Ingelow
So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet,
And all the white orchard with fast-falling blossom was litter'd;
And under and over the branches those little birds twitter'd,
While hanging head downwards they scolded because I was seven.
A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven.
On Seeing An Officer's Widow Distracted
© Mary Barber
BRITAIN, for this impending Ruin dread;
Their Woes call loud for Vengeance on thy Head:
Nor wonder, if Disasters wait your Fleets;
Nor wonder at Complainings in your Streets:
Be timely wise; arrest th' uplifted Hand,
Ere Pestilence or Famine sweep the Land.
One Struggle More, And I Am Free
© George Gordon Byron
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
Old Stone Chimney
© Henry Lawson
The rising moon on the peaks was blending
Her silver light with the sunset glow,
The Appeal Of The Chorus
© Aristophanes
But now for the gentle reproaches he bore
On the part of his friends, for refraining before
To embrace the profession, embarking for life
In theatrical storms and poetical strife.
The Fountain
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Traveller! on thy journey toiling
By the swift Powow,
With the summer sunshine falling
On thy heated brow,
Listen, while all else is still,
To the brooklet from the hill.
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - August
© George MacDonald
1.
SO shall abundant entrance me be given
The Vicissitudes Experienced In The Christian Life
© William Cowper
I suffer fruitless anguish day by day,
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
And see no end of all that I sustain.
The Going Of The Battery [Wive's Lament November 2nd 1899]
© Thomas Hardy
O it was sad enough, weak enough, mad enough -
Light in their loving as soldiers can be -
First to risk choosing them, leave alone losing them
Now, in far battle, beyond the South Sea! . . .
Our little Kinsmenafter Rain
© Emily Dickinson
Our little Kinsmenafter Rain
In plenty may be seen,
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.
A Conversation At Dawn
© Thomas Hardy
He lay awake, with a harassed air,
And she, in her cloud of loose lank hair,
Seemed trouble-tried
As the dawn drew in on their faces there.
By The Fireside : Resignation
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair!
Yellow Warblers
© Katharine Lee Bates
The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies
When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes,
I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,
- a winter wild with war and woe and wrong -
Beyond my casement had been void of song.
The Muses Threnodie: Seventh Muse
© Henry Adamson
To Moncrieff eastern, then to Wallace town,
To Fingask of Dundas; thence passing down
Unto the Rynd, as martial men we fare;
What life man's heart could wish more void of care?
Passing the river Earn, on the other side,
Drilling our sojers, vulgars were afraid.
